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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24779020">Psychedelics</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterbeer15/pseuds/butterbeer15'>butterbeer15</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:53:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24779020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterbeer15/pseuds/butterbeer15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Short story of a woman plagued with hallucinations.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Psychedelics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first original piece I've posted, please feel free to comment, or give advice!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I’ve been having hallucinations since I was 10 years old. Mostly auditory, it was only when I started seeing people who weren’t there that my parents knew something was wrong. They immediately got me a therapist and a psychologist that put me on medication to control it.</p><p>I am incredibly lucky. My parents didn’t hesitate in paying for my care. They paid top dollar for an insurance policy that would cover medicine for mental illness. Because they caught it so early, my childhood was relatively normal. I went to school, got stressed about homework, even bought my first car at 17 ($500 beater off craigslist, broke down on the highway a month later). Life wasn’t perfect, but it was normal and happy.</p><p>It was only when I turned 25 that I ran into some problems. My parents could no longer keep me on their insurance policy. I was expecting it, and had found the cheapest policy that still covered my medication. I couldn’t get it through my employer, but it went okay for several months with careful budgeting.</p><p>That is, until I lost my job. The economy had tanked, and since my work had ‘reason’ to let me go, I was gone within the week. </p><p>First thing I cancelled was my insurance. I moved back in with my parents. I sold my car to pay my landlord the fee for cancelling my lease early. And then, a month later, I ran out of meds.</p><p>The thing about long-term medication is that when you stop taking it, it takes a while for your brain to realize it’s not getting it anymore. </p><p>It took 2 weeks for my symptoms to start giving me issues. I would hear my parents arguing, threatening each other, car alarms would go off, carnival music everywhere. It got to the point that I begged my parents to get me medicine again. They found someone who sold it under the table, 3 times the market price. But when you can’t purchase it without a prescription, and can’t afford the appointment to get one in the first place, what choice do you have? It was still the cheaper alternative.</p><p>And for those next few months, those sounds went down to a whisper and phantoms could only be seen out the corner of my eye. I rationed more liberally this time, having just got a part-time job at a local coffee shop not too affected by the economic downturn. I asked my parents for the dealer’s information. $3,500 in cash for 3 month’s dose.</p><p>Only this time, he gave me something else. Whatever it was, it sent me on an all-expenses-paid trip to Hell and back.</p><p>But again, I was lucky. </p><p>Not only did I not die, I didn’t miss any shifts at work. I threw the rest of the bottle away and told my parents not to give in to my demands for more medicine. Like it or not, I would have to push through.</p><p>It began like the last time, whispers turning to screams. My sleep schedule became erratic, meals forgotten. Accusations and threats pushed onto me by invisible foe (But not invisible to me, not anymore). </p><p>I knew I was getting accustomed when my boss told me he was proud of how strait-laced I was dealing with a customer screaming at me. I hadn’t the heart to tell him the only reason I knew he was real was because the man didn’t call me by name.</p><p>I’d been dealing with this for about 8 months when it first appeared. A shadow in my room. It kind of reminded me of Peter Pan’s shadow after it got separated from him. It never said anything, just hovered around my room like it was observing me and its’ surroundings. </p><p>At first I ignored it, as one is prone to do with most hallucinations. But after a while, I grew fond of the shadow’s presence. You see when the shadow was there, there was no screaming, no threats. It was quiet, and peaceful.</p><p>I slowly started to sleep better. My appetite returned. My performance at work was stellar. And all I had to do was put up with a specter in my bedroom.</p><p>As time went on, the economy started to shakily recover. I got my job back (though still worked part-time on weekends at the coffee shop), moved out of my parent’s house and back into an apartment. The shadow followed, watching me silently as it always did.</p><p>Only it wasn’t much of a shadow anymore. I noticed it started having a more definitive outline the longer it lingered with me. It had also begun to make noises. Nothing loud, mostly… humming. I might have been worried, had it not been for the simple fact that I had never felt so healthy off medication.</p><p>So I continued on. I got a better job, with good benefits. I was able to get medication from a clinic again. My parents threw me a party when I told them. Mom made a huge carrot cake which she’d insisted I take home with me. </p><p>It was then, when I was munching on a hearty piece of cake, having just taken my medication that I felt a hand on my shoulder. My shadow, looking more solid than ever before, stood behind me in my dinky kitchen.</p><p>Unperturbed, I grinned up at it. </p><p>“Sorry, it’s been great having you around, but I don’t think I’ll be seeing you much longer.” I said, feeling the weight of the world off my shoulders.</p><p>The specter hummed. It brought its shoulders up in what looked like a shrug. I suppose with the cake and a bit too much alcohol in my system, I felt a bit sentimental. Which is why I started talking in the first place. </p><p>“You’re different than all of the other hallucinations that I’ve had. And having you around kept all the really horrible stuff away.” I shoveled another bite of cake into my mouth, “I’m not sure why that is, but I’m thankful for it.”</p><p>It hummed again, the hand on my shoulder squeezing gently. I coughed a bit, surprised, but I just finished my food, and got ready for bed as usual. It hovered near me as it always did.</p><p>The thing is though, even after being back on medication for over a year, my specter never left. There it hovered, in my apartment, humming softly every so often as I went about my business. You would think I would be bothered by it, or even have mentioned it to my work-paid therapist. </p><p>But I felt comfortable with it there. </p><p>Then I came home one day, and found my specter was no longer a specter. In my apartment was a dark-skinned woman, her hair- ghostly- floating about her head, with her limbs seeming weightless as she advanced towards me. </p><p>I was dumb struck. She was real. Real!</p><p>She was beautiful.</p><p>She put her charcoal hand to my cheek, humming as a smile spread across her face. </p><p>She was mine.</p>
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